


Not Your Fault

by StreetNerd



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Animated Series, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Comforting Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Desperate Spock (Star Trek), Grumpy Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Hurt Spock (Star Trek), Sick Spock (Star Trek)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23519389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StreetNerd/pseuds/StreetNerd
Summary: (RE-WRITTEN) Spock was injured during an away mission, and is bed-ridden. McCoy's team's own negligence leaves Spock without a vacuum field bed-pan, and Spock becomes increasingly uncomfortable, and finds the humiliation of asking for help to relieve himself difficult to bear.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	Not Your Fault

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this yesterday, but I REWROTE MUCH OF THE SECOND HALF OF THIS STORY, because I feel I did not do a good enough job keeping the characters strong the first time I wrote it.  
> Hope you enjoy!

Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer aboard the Federation Starship Enterprise, sighed luxuriously at his desk, ran his fingers through his thinning hair, and wondered aloud whether or not it was too early to pour himself a bottle of Sorean Brandy. He looked over at his clock - it read 0445 hours. He groaned. These past 24 hours had seemed like weeks. He was exhausted - he had not slept since Shipboard Wednesday, and was looking forward to decompressing with a cold, hard drink.

He decided to give it fifteen more minutes - to avoid drinking before 5pm - then he would crack open his new bottle. Hell, maybe he would even buzz Jim, and see if he wanted to join him for a drink. God only knows Jim would have questions for him, especially since the matter concerned the ship’s first officer - and (though McCoy hated admitting it) their friend.

Of course, it was that stubborn hobgoblin’s fault that everyone’s brains were fried right now. For the past two days, McCoy had been working around the clock with a team of doctors and nurses to keep Spock’s condition stable. His prognosis was promising - but he would need to remain in sickbay for a week at least. 

On an away mission 24 hours prior, the away-team had been met by a tribe of primitive but very hostile ape-like mammals on a planet thought to have been barren, who seemed to possess bizarre telepathic and telekinetic abilities. Jim had ordered an emergency beam-up as soon as they had realized what danger they were in (and the danger they were in of violating the Prime Directive) But the planet’s unusual para-magnetic field made it difficult for Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott to lock onto them. 

Spock, in his usual passive and nonviolent manner, had told the rest of the party to hold fire, and that he would attempt to use the beings’ advanced abilities to their advantage, and telepathically project sentiments of ‘calm’ and ‘peace’ to the leaders of the tribe. In order to hold them off long enough for the small landing party to be beamed aboard.

Unfortunately, however, as soon as Spock had taken so much as a step forward, he was telekinetically thrown backwards with a violent and astonishing force, against a rock cliff by the tribal leader. Ironically, almost even cruelly, meer milliseconds later, the entire party was successfully beamed aboard the Enterprise. 

Spock had been knocked unconscious, and was beamed directly into Sickbay, where McCoy himself had diagnosed Spock with a fractured spinal cord, a broken neck, and a severe concussion. The injuries, of course, had been very easy to mend. The effects they had had on Spock’s body, however, were not as simple. Spock’s life was not in danger, but for the moment, he was paralyzed from the chest down. He would regain his ability to walk over the next week, with the help of some powerful neuro-spinal regeneration drugs. The drugs would be hard on his already vulnerable system (damn that green blood of his, it made McCoy’s own job so much more difficult than it needed to be). Spock had been given the only bed in the little nook outside McCoy’s own office, so he could keep a close watch on Spock over the next few days, in case he tried to pull anything stupid.

McCoy was confident in his own abilities, and he knew that if that God-dammed stubborn alien followed his orders, he would be back on duty mid-next week. He leaned back in his office chair to glance out the door at the alien in question. McCoy signed in relief. Spock still hadn’t regained consciousness since the injury occurred - McCoy was not worried about this (in fact, he was quite relieved, because every moment Spock stayed asleep was one moment less he would need to spend arguing with him to cooperate). 

He knew Spock’s body had been through trauma, had ingested a lot of drugs meant for humans, and as long as Spock stayed asleep, his body would get the healing it needed. He was almost tempted to give him another sedative to prevent him from waking up at all…… 

The thought made him chuckle. In the olden days, they used to put patients into medically-induced comas to allow their bodies ample time to heal. How luxurious, and heartily satisfying it would be to simply just sedate Spock, and awaken him when he was fully healed. Yes - were that still in practice, it would be Bones’ ideal way of treating the hobgoblin!

He glanced back up at the clock. 0555 hours. He was just leaning forward in his seat to hit the com button to call Jim over for that greatly anticipated drink when he heard a weak moan coming from the bed outside his office door.

Damn that hobgoblin! Ofcourse, just when I’m about to put my feet up…

McCoy groaned, cursed his bad luck under his breath, and pulled himself out of his comfortable chair to go see the Vulcan. McCoy could have punched himself for having let Nurse Chappel and the rest of the team off early - he hadn’t expected Spock to awaken at all tonight, plus apart from him and Spock, sickbay was completely empty - so he had told them to go get some rest. 

McCoy dragged his feet as he walked over to where the Vulcan lay, sleep-eyed and ashen-faced, squinting up at him. The bright lights seemed to be bothering him and since there was no one else there, he uttered a lazy “lights to 65%” before grabbing his medi-scanner and turning to face Spock.

He began scanning before he even started to speak. 

“Well, Mister Spock?”

He glanced grumpily up from his scanner, to see a particularly reduced-looking Vulcan back at him. 

“Well what, Doctor?” Spock replied calmly, though his voice sounded scratchy and weak. McCoy huffed.

Spock shifted slightly, and seemed to be trying to sit up. He lifted his head and shoulders, and seemed to blanch even further when he discovered he could not move the rest of his body. Panicked eyes quickly turned to McCoy for answers.

McCoy quickly put his hand behind Spock’s head and guided him back down to his pillow. For reasons unknown, McCoy could feel his heart begin to ache under that frantic, frightened gaze - he hated seeing his patients in distress - and he wouldn’t have believed it, but he felt no urge at all to call out Spock on this raw display of emotion. 

“You fractured your spine in two places, Mr. Spock. For the moment, you’re paralyzed from the chest down. But you should regain full muscle control over the next week,” he put his scanner down, satisfied with the results, then added, “and maybe next time, you'll think twice before pulling something like that on an away mission.”

McCoy began preparing Spock’s next dose of pain-reliever, as the Vulcan slowly took in this information. McCoy took the Vulcan’s silence as an opportunity to lecture him further. “Now, you will do EXACTLY as I say over the next few days, or else you could screw up the neural regeneration - it is a very delicate process, and I don’t want you trying anything reckless.”

Spock sighed in defeat as he closed his eyes, relaxing into the pillow. “Understood, Doctor. I shall try my best to comply with your orders.”

Spock winced slightly as McCoy violently administered the hypo into Spock’s neck. McCoy placed it down on the counter, and then walked to the foot of Spock’s bed. 

“Well you’re better do more than TRY, Mister Spock.” McCoy pulled up the heating blanket from Spock’s feet, and touched his big toe with a medical probe. “Can you feel that?”

“Affirmative.” Spock squeezed his eyes shut, and his face momentarily tensed. A bit of an extreme reaction, but better that than none at all. McCoy dismissed Spock’s discomfort as after-effects from the neural regeneration.

“Good. The nerve regeneration process is already starting to work then. You should start to regain small amounts of movement in two days’ time. But for now, you will lay still and get some rest.” McCoy dimmed the lights, and got Spock a cup of water to drink with a straw. He held it up to Spock’s lips. Spock held his lips shut.  
“Drink.”

Spock squeezed his eyes shut. “No thank you, Doctor.” Typical. Even while so vulnerable, Spock was still picking a fight.

“I said drink, you overgrown string bean!” Spock could make McCoy so mad! He truly did not know why the Vulcan was so capable of getting him so heated so quickly. McCoy knew he was overreacting, and were it any other patient, he would have inquired “why?”, found out the problem, and coaxed them to stay hydrated. Spock however, always claimed to be all but perfect, so, he could damn well drink when his body needed it. Spock didn’t get the gentle treatment.

“Drink or I will give you another hydration spray. Your choice.”

Spock blushed green, and reluctantly took a couple of small sips from the straw, before weakly pushing it away. 

“Well I guess that’s better than nothing. Thank you.” McCoy replaced the cup on the bedside table and did a final check on Spock’s readings. Spock shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. McCoy noticed this, and adjusted Spock’s bed into a position meant for sleeping.

“I’m going back to my office. Gonna have a drink, Jim might stop by a bit later. If he does, I’ll wake you up to say hi. Do you need anything before I go?”

Spock hesitated, shifted uncomfortably again, and then replied quietly, “no doctor.”

Not more than 6 minutes later, when McCoy was on his second shot of brandy, a weak voice, barely audible called out to him.

“Doctor…?”

He groaned, then called, a bit more harshly than he had intended to, “what is it Spock, you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Indeed Doctor….” came his patient’s weak reply. 

McCoy waited, but Spock didn’t say anything more, so he poured himself another glass, and resumed his paperwork.

Then came the call again, uncharacteristically high-pitched and urgent for the stoic Vulcan. “Doctor?”

McCoy sighed.

“Yes, what is it Spock?”

There was a long silence. McCoy was getting irritated, and was about to yell at the Vulcan to go back to sleep, when Spock said, in an astonishingly small voice, “it would seem… I need to relieve myself…”

McCoy felt his face go hot as a wave of guilt washed over him. Had no one set up Spock’s bio bed with a waste-vacuum field!? No wonder Spock was in such discomfort! The field was supposed to regulate body-waste in bed-ridden patients. Spock had been without one this entire time. McCoy felt another wave of guilt and pity, as he realized how hesitant Spock was to tell him. He knew Spock was extremely self-conscious, deep down beneath the stoic facade he always wore. He wore it so well, and he was so close with Spock, that it was easy to forget all about how insecure he could be about certain things.

McCoy, his eyes sympathetic, got up quickly from his desk and proceeded to Spock’s side. “Okay Spock, no worries at all. I’m a doctor, this is what I do.”

Spock did not look at McCoy, instead, face straight, focused at a point on the wall in the distance.

McCoy patted the side of Spock’s bed, and said “I’ll go page maintenance for a vacuum field pan - give me five minutes,” and turned to proceed to his office.

Then, to McCoy’s shock, Spock replied hurriedly, his voice uncharacteristically high, “quite urgently I might add…”

McCoy stopped in his tracks and turned around to face the Vulcan. His face was still a mask of control - but McCoy could tell Spock was fighting hard to keep it so.

McCoy took a step toward Spock. He said in a much gentler voice, “look Spock, it’s okay - I am going to page Maintenance and have them bring one - it will take five minutes at the most,” then he turned around and proceeded to the intra-ship com.

“Doctor - this is most humiliating…” Spock squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth together, “I am not certain that will be soon enough… I do not understand what is happening to me, but it is most embarassing and difficult to bear…”

McCoy’s chest ached once again with guilt. He would give whoever neglected to provide Spock with this essential device a severe talking to. McCoy peeled his eyes away, and punched in the code for maintenance. 

“McCoy to maintenance. Have a vacuum pan beamed to sickbay on the double.”

McCoy waited. And waited.

“Maintenance to sickbay. We are dealing with a major spill on deck eleven - but I will have it beamed over as soon as we can. Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?!” barked McCoy, “I need it now!”

The young man on the other side of the comm hesitated. “Yes sir…. I will do my best sir. Maintenance out.” 

Well damn… McCoy returned slowly to Spock’s side, and put a hand on his shoulder. Spock’s eyes were still shut, as if concentrating very hard on controlling himself.

“Spock, maintenance said they will have it beamed up as soon as they can…”

“When?”

McCoy bit his lip. He spoke gently, his hand still on Spock’s shoulder.

“Ten minutes max they said.”

Spock’s eyes shot open, then he squeezed them shut again. “Doctor - McCoy, this is humiliating - but I am quite sure that ten minutes will not be soon enough...”

McCoy ran his fingers through his hair and breathed deeply. 

“Don’t feel embarrassed Spock, it’s natural. It would happen to any of us. It’s not even your fault - my medical team somehow neglected to hook you up to a vacuum field. I’m so sorry Spock.”

“No doctor - I have never experienced this before. I do not know why this is happening, or why it came so… suddenly - Doctor, I am not certain I can do this for very much longer…” Spock allowed his face to contort with distress, and McCoy’s heart sank yet again.

“Spock-”

Spock’s eyes shot open and he looked down the length of his body. “McCoy, now!”

Heart racing McCoy got up.

“Okay Spock, ok, just hold on-”

McCoy clumsily grabbed a handful of towels, and quickly pulled the covers up off the lower half of Spock’s body. 

To his horror, he saw a small patch of wetness on the mattress between Spock’s legs. McCoy quickly fumbled to undo the fastening on Spock’s hospital robes, as the wet patch grew in size ever so slightly. Spock had been holding it for almost two days - thanks to McCoy’s own team’s negligence, and now he was on the verge of having an accident in bed. Poor Spock. This was so unfair.

Spock looked down the length of his body again. McCoy tried to cover the wet spot to spare Spock the humiliation, but McCoy was too late - Spock saw the wet spot between his legs tensed, and let out a strained “oh no”, which caused another dribble to come out. 

McCoy finally managed to get the zipper undone. “Spock, it’s my fault, not yours. You’re doing fine.”

Even though he was a doctor, he felt slightly uncomfortable as he took Spock’s penis out from his robe with his hand. It was leaking slightly, and another small squirt came out with the movement. 

Spock’s face read utter distress now.. “How much longer until the vacuum field?” Spock managed to ask, in as dignified of a voice he could muster.

“I don’t know Spock...” he said gently, “but you have towels now, if a little bit comes out, that’s okay.”

Spock opened his eyes momentarily and looked down at McCoy. Then he closed them again tightly. “I… apologize…..” and his shoulders tensed as a longer stream came out. He managed to stop it again.

McCoy knew Spock would not be able to hold it much longer. McCoy held the towels tighter around Spock’s penis. He looked around them for anything - a bucket - a jug - he found the water jug and dumped it down the drain. 

He returned to Spock’s bed. Spock let out a most un-vulcan like whimper, and looked once again down the length of his body as a trickle began to flow steadily out from his penis. He tensed his shoulders, but the stream did not stop.

McCoy knew this was it, and Spock had lost control. He quickly took Spock’s penis out of the towels, and pointed it into the jug. Spock held his eyes shut, his cheeks burning green with shame as he relieved himself into the jug. McCoy had never felt more guilty in his life. If only he had been kinder to Spock, he would have felt comfortable enough to ask for help before it was too late... 

Spock forced himself to stop after a few seconds, and looked up at McCoy with deep embarrassment in his eyes. McCoy said quietly, “just finish up Spock, I don’t know how long Maintenance is going to take.”

Spock squeezed his eyes shut in shame and relief, and resumed the steady stream of liquid, until it slowed to a trickle, and then stopped. 

McCoy put a hand on Spock’s shoulder, and said “that’s it… feel better?”

Spock did not reply, he just lay there, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

McCoy sighed, got up, dumped the jug in the sink, and then went and got a portable sonic wand to clean Spock up with. McCoy first cleaned in between Spock’s legs, around his private parts, then the bed. Still, Spock did not react. Once Spock was finally clean, McCoy replaced Spock’s heating blanket with a fresh one, with the heat turned up to max.

“Damnit Spock…” McCoy muttered, as he sat down on the edge of Spock’s now clean bed, and ran his fingers through his own hair.

Spock just continued to stare straight ahead, unmoving, not speaking, like he did when he was upset and trying to process a negative event. McCoy had only seen Spock react like this on a handful of occasions.

“Spock!” McCoy said sharply - the change in tone caught Spock off guard and his eyes snapped to McCoy. “Spock. It’s me - McCoy - your friend - it’s just me. This is nothing to me - I have been a doctor for years, have treated dozens of different species, it’s my Goddamn job to help people when their bodies aren’t functioning properly - you’re no different than anyone else, you’re being ridiculously hard on yourself - you can relax. You need to rest, or the nerves in your back won’t heal.”

Spock seemed to consider this for a moment, before looking back at the ceiling and sighing deeply. “That may be Doctor…. But the humiliation is… proving to be most difficult to bear…” Spock shut his eyes solemnly.

McCoy’s empathetic heart sank once again. He placed a comforting hand on Spock’s bare shoulder. Spock winced slightly at the touch, and his eyes snapped back to McCoy. McCoy remembered suddenly that Spock was in fact a touch-telepath, and looked Spock in the eye, and focused as hard as he could on projecting feelings of calm, comfort, acceptance, professionalism, and friendship.

He felt Spock’s body relax slowly, as Spock looked McCoy in the eye. He held his gaze for a moment, before allowing his eyes to close.

“You are my friend...” was all Spock said.

McCoy nodded. “Yes Spock...”

Unsure what to say next, McCoy stayed seated on the edge of Spock’s bed, his hand on his shoulder, until Spock fell asleep.


End file.
